and gives instructions.
Mean time the Council of Sixteen assure him,
They have twenty thousand citizens in arms.
Is it not so, Polin?

_Pol._ True, on my life;
And, if the king doubts the discovery,
Send me to the Bastile till all be proved.

_Qu. M._ Call colonel Grillon; the king would speak with him.

_Ab._ Was ever age like this? [_Exit_ POLIN.

_Qu. M._ Polin is honest;
Beside, the whole proceeding is so like
The hair-brained rout, I guessed as much before.
Know then, it is resolved to seize the king,
When next he goes in penitential weeds
Among the friars, without his usual guards;
Then, under shew of popular sedition,
For safety, shut him in a monastery,
And sacrifice his favourites to their rage.

_Ab._ When is this council to be held again?

_Qu. M._ Immediately upon the duke's departure.

_Ab._ Why sends not then the king sufficient guards,
To seize the fiends, and hew them into pieces?

_Qu. M._ 'Tis in appearance easy, but the effect
Most hazardous; for straight, upon the alarm,
The city would be sure to be in arms;
Therefore, to undertake, and not to compass,
Were to come off with ruin and dishonour.
You know the Italian proverb--_Bisogna copriersi_[6],--
He, that will venture on a hornet's nest,
Should arm his head, and buckler well his breast.

_Ab._ But wherefore seems the king so unresolved?

_Qu. M._ I brought Polin, and made the demonstration;
Told him--necessity cried out, to take
A resolution to preserve his life,
And look on Guise as a reclaimless rebel:
But, through the natural sweetness of his temper,
And dangerous mercy, coldly he replied,--
Madam I will consider what you say.

_Ab._ Yet after all, could we but fix him--

_Qu. M._ Right,--
The business were more firm for this delay;
For noblest natures, though they suffer long,
When once provoked, they turn the face to danger.
But see, he comes, Alphonso Corso with him;
Let us withdraw, and when 'tis fit rejoin him. [_Exeunt._

_Enter King, and_ ALPHONSO CORSO.

_King._ Alphonso Corso.

_Alph._ Sir.

_King._ I think thou lovest me.

_Alph._ More than my life.

_King._ That's much; yet I believe thee.
My mother has the judgment of the world,
And all things move by that; but, my Alphonso,
She has a cruel wit.

_Alph._ The provocation, sir.

_King._ I know it well;
But,--if thou'dst have my heart within thy hand,--
All conjurations blot the name of kings.
What honours